Episode 06b, VS 75 Legacies Part 2
by Voyager Season 7.5
Summary: When B'Elanna Torres discovers she is pregnant, both she and her husband Tom must deal with their emotional reactions ... cont'd.


Episode 6b  
Legacies II  
  
Prologue  
  
"Enter."  
  
Chakotay stepped into the captain's ready room.  
"Are we still on for dinner tonight?"  
  
"With personnel reports for dessert, of  
course."  
  
"Of course." He couldn't stifle a grin as he  
took his accustomed seat in front of her desk.  
"Unless you would prefer working on baby  
shower plans instead. I understand Neelix has  
been polling everyone coming into the mess hall  
to come up with the best way to surprise  
B'Elanna."  
  
Janeway took a sip of her coffee. "I've heard  
that surprising pregnant Klingons is one of  
the best ways to live dangerously."  
  
"According to the Doctor, we have a window of  
opportunity between the third and sixth months  
when pregnant Klingons are uncharacteristically  
placid."  
  
"Tell Neelix he'd better have the party soon,  
then, just in case."  
  
"I'll consider that an official order,"  
Chakotay replied, chuckling at her mock glare.  
  
Janeway smiled back at him and confided, "You  
know, if this starts a baby boomlet, we might  
need to redistribute crew quarters in the very  
near future."  
  
"I'm open to getting a roommate, Kathryn."  
  
"I'll just bet you are," she drawled. Then she  
changed the subject, right on cue. "More  
important matters first."  
  
As they discussed Voyager's latest supply  
requisition list, Chakotay managed to keep his  
mind on his work and a smile on his lips. It  
was only after he left her that he admitted to  
himself just how nice a roommate on a starship  
could be, especially if it were the right  
roommate. The right life mate, if he  
eventually had his way. But that second  
thought he'd keep to himself for now. As for  
the first pleasant thought, it was a small  
starship, but a very long trip.  
  
Act 1  
  
The first thing B'Elanna saw when she walked  
into her and Tom's quarters at seventeen-fifty  
hours was the table. It was covered with a  
white tablecloth, and set with the red china  
they'd replicated shortly after they'd married.  
Two tall white tapers were lit, and a bottle  
was chilling in a silver bucket.  
  
She hadn't been paying much attention to the  
time until Chakotay had stopped by  
Engineering. She'd used her promise to get  
home earlier as an excuse not to talk to him.  
Still she'd completely forgotten about the  
private celebration Tom had planned for  
tonight.  
  
"You're late."  
  
B'Elanna turned as Tom came around the corner  
from the dressing area. He'd spoken without  
rancor, and he was smiling, obviously in a  
happy mood. "I'm sorry," she said as she  
dropped the several PADDs she was carrying onto  
the small stand by the door. "A couple of  
unexpected things came up in Engineering."  
  
"No problem." Tom squeezed her shoulders and  
kissed her on the lips in his traditional  
greeting. She slipped her arms around his  
waist briefly before he pulled back and gave  
her a disarming grin. "I haven't actually  
fired up the replicator yet."  
  
B'Elanna managed a small smile in return.  
"Nothing's spoiled then."  
  
"Nope." Tom walked to the table and pulled the  
chilling bottle from the bucket. "I  
replicated a bottle of 2369 Dom Perignon,  
syntheholic of course."  
  
He'd replicated the same vintage on their  
wedding night, and she'd definitely approved  
of the choice. She silently watched him  
uncork the bottle and pour the champagne into  
two fluted red glasses.  
  
"I was just going through the computer's  
database on baby furniture," Tom said,  
indicating the console on the desk with a  
small jerk of his head. "I found a really nice  
antique cradle. That's the first thing we'll  
need to get, either a cradle or a bassinet for  
her to sleep in when she's born."  
  
B'Elanna nodded weakly in agreement as Tom  
walked toward her again, glasses in hand.  
"There are dozens of other things we'll need  
too, but we'll have plenty of time to rearrange  
our quarters and collect it all. Here."  
  
B'Elanna took the glass he offered her, aware  
again of the sheer enthusiasm that lit his  
face when he talked about preparing for the  
baby. For a moment wanted desperately to feel  
that too, to be consumed with anticipation, to  
be thinking of only those kind of innocuous  
plans . . .  
  
"A toast," Tom said, lifting his glass. "To  
our daughter. May she grow up happy and  
strong, and may her life be as wonderful as we  
can possibly make it."  
  
B'Elanna hesitated for only a moment before  
clinked her glass against Tom's. That was  
exactly what she wanted for their daughter  
too. She took a quick sip, then walked to the  
table and set her glass down. "Tom--"  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
B'Elanna turned to find Tom looking at her  
intently. "Nothing's wrong exactly . . ."  
  
"B'Elanna, this morning you were a little  
nervous, but you were happy. Now  
you're . . .not." Tom frowned. "Are you feeling  
okay?"  
  
B'Elanna took a deep breath. It was now or  
never. "I'm fine. But the baby may not be."  
  
Tom stared at her, clearly nonplused. "What  
are you talking about? This morning the  
doctor said she was perfectly healthy."  
  
"She is healthy, *now.* We need to consider  
another procedure to make sure she stays that  
way."  
  
Tom slowly set his glass down on the table, his  
expression troubled and wary. "What  
procedure?"  
  
His question gave B'Elanna the opening she  
needed. What was important was that Tom  
understand the risks inherent in their  
daughter's mixed genetics, and the necessity of  
this procedure to ensure her good health.  
B'Elanna began to tell him what she and the  
doctor had discussed, ignoring the stab of her  
conscience as she deliberately left out most of  
the doctor's objections.  
  
Tom listened carefully to B'Elanna's  
explanation, but he was still completely  
bewildered when she finished. Her conclusion  
didn't make sense, and he didn't know what to  
think about the doctor. "Why didn't the  
doctor say something to me, if he's seriously  
concerned about this?"  
  
"He's still working on the data. But once we  
tell him that we're both in agreement--"  
  
"I'm not in agreement," Tom said bluntly. He  
shook his head vehemently and stalked across  
the room, frowning at the starstreaks outside  
their window. Then he turned and saw  
B'Elanna's irate expression. He deliberately  
took a conciliatory tone. "This doesn't make  
any sense. Why would her mixed genes be so  
detrimental to her health? Your health has  
always been fine. Better than fine, in fact."  
  
"Every case is different."  
  
"Maybe," Tom conceded. "But even if there are  
some minor problems, there's no way that  
altering her genome so drastically could be  
necessary. There are also ethical  
restrictions involved--"  
  
"Not if the alterations are therapeutic,"  
B'Elanna said sharply.  
  
"Nothing you've said convinces me it would be  
justified for her health," Tom said. Not even  
close, and he couldn't understand how the  
doctor could even be thinking about altering  
their daughter even for a moment. He took  
several steps forward and put a hand on  
B'Elanna's shoulder. She was stiff and  
unresponsive, her expression unyielding.  
  
"B'Elanna . . ." he massaged her muscles  
gently,  
trying to figure out how to reassure her.  
"Maybe you misunderstood the doctor. Even if  
he's researching the data, it's probably just  
as a precaution. He wouldn't consider such a  
drastic measure unless there was no other  
alternative. Right now our daughter's healthy.  
Considering your condition, it's natural to be  
worried . . ."  
  
B'Elanna shook his hand off her shoulder. "I'm  
sick and tired of everyone telling me I 'don't  
have to worry,' as if I shouldn't care about  
my daughter's welfare! And now you're doing it,  
too? Don't patronize me, Tom!"  
  
Tom sighed, frustrated. "I'm not patronizing  
you, B'Elanna. But you're blowing this out of  
proportion."  
  
"Are you a doctor, Tom?"  
  
Tom stared at B'Elanna, momentarily surprised  
at her sarcasm, then annoyed. "No, B'Elanna,  
I'm just a lowly medic," he said, his tone  
equally caustic. "But I do know that what  
you're proposing would change our daughter  
completely--her personality, her appearance,  
everything about her."  
  
B'Elanna shook her head. "She'd still be our  
daughter, even if she looked less Klingon."  
  
"But she wouldn't be . . ." Tom paused,  
registering what she'd just said. "How do you  
know what she looks like?" he asked, though he  
immediately realized the answer. His eyes  
widened. "You *saw* her."  
  
B'Elanna's expression was defensive. "So what  
if I did?"  
  
"I'm glad you saw her, B'Elanna," Tom said  
gently. He'd been hoping she'd give in. He'd  
wanted her to share his joy at seeing their  
daughter . . .  
  
Except that B'Elanna didn't share his joy.  
Finally--belatedly--it all came together for  
him. "That's it, isn't it? You never thought  
about gene resequencing *until* you saw her."  
  
"That has nothing to do with it," B'Elanna  
snapped.  
  
"The hell it doesn't! You don't want her to  
look Klingon!"  
  
Her expression told him that his accusation was  
on the mark, though he certainly felt no  
satisfaction knowing it. He'd thought she'd  
moved beyond this, and had truly begun to  
accept herself. She'd taken comfort in her  
last meeting with her mother in Grethor.  
She'd even decided, albeit reluctantly, to  
write back to her uncle on Qo'noS. So why was  
this an issue again? "I don't get it."  
  
B'Elanna turned away, quickly enough that her  
arm unintentionally knocked one of the glasses  
of champagne off the table. She seemed  
barely aware of it as she paced to the bed and  
back. When she looked at him again, her face  
was set. "You don't know what it's like to be  
a . . .mongrel."  
  
The way she said that word stabbed at his  
heart. "B'Elanna, you're not--"  
  
"I've been called that, Tom," B'Elanna told him  
harshly. "By humans and Klingons. Do you  
think I want that for my daughter? Do you  
think I want her to always have it thrown in  
her face that she's different from everyone  
else--or for her to never feel like she  
belongs?"  
  
Tom regretted that B'Elanna had felt that way  
once, but it scared him more that she could  
still feel that way. "B'Elanna, I know your  
childhood was difficult. But you *do* belong  
here on Voyager. There are lots of people  
here who are different from everyone else--  
Neelix, Chell, Seven, Icheb, Naomi--and  
they're all accepted here. Our daughter will  
be too. In fact, if you want to see what our  
daughter's life will be like, just look at  
Naomi."  
  
B'Elanna was silent for a moment, and Tom hoped  
she was considering his argument. Then she  
asked pointedly, "And what about when we get  
home?"  
  
Tom started to say it wouldn't happen for a  
long time, but he knew now that B'Elanna's  
latest project might get them home many years  
sooner than they'd expected. The funny thing  
was, when she'd told him briefly about it  
after the last data transmission a week ago,  
he'd almost told her not to try so hard. Glad  
as he was to be in contact with his family  
again, he didn't have a strong desire to rush  
back to the place where his life had  
completely unraveled, or to trade his life  
here for a more uncertain future in the Alpha  
Quadrant.  
  
But that reluctance had absolutely nothing to  
do with his daughter, as Tom would have told  
B'Elanna. She spoke again before he could,  
perhaps taking his brief silence as accordance,  
"Don't you want to give our child the best  
opportunity possible to be happy?"  
  
Tom sighed. "Of course I do, B'Elanna. To me  
that isn't changing who she is, and turning  
her into someone else. How can she have the  
best opportunity possible if *she* doesn't  
even exist anymore?"  
  
B'Elanna's eyes narrowed. "You're twisting  
this, Tom," she said angrily, though there was  
a tired edge to her voice now. "But you're  
not going to change your mind, are you?"  
  
Tom shook his head, and answered truthfully,  
"No." He couldn't do it. "I can't consider  
something I think is completely wrong."  
  
B'Elanna's face shuttered, and Tom could  
literally feel her withdrawal. "Then there's  
nothing more to talk about."  
  
"Yes, there is--"  
  
"You got what you wanted," B'Elanna said  
coldly, turning away.  
  
She was wrong. He hadn't gotten what he wanted  
at all. He anted her to be as happy about  
the baby she was carrying as he was, and to  
accept their child wholeheartedly.  
"B'Elanna . . ."  
  
She sat down stiffly on the couch and stared  
out at the stars, not acknowledging him. Part  
of him wanted to go to her and comfort her,  
but an equal part of him was angry with her.  
He wanted her to see what he saw when he  
looked at their baby, and it hurt that she  
could reject the daughter he was already  
coming to love. He wished he completely  
understood why, but he also knew B'Elanna  
wasn't going to talk to him right now, and if  
he forced her, it would just turn into a  
shouting match. At the moment his own  
emotions felt too raw to deal with that.  
  
"I'm going out for a while. It will give us  
both time to . . .think."  
  
Though he'd spoken quietly, he knew she'd heard  
him. She didn't respond. He looked at her  
rigid form for several seconds, feeling  
frustrated, angry, and confused. Then he  
turned and walked toward the door.  
  
Act 2  
  
B'Elanna wanted to shout, or throw something,  
but this wasn't a simple clash of tempers  
where they had a rousing argument that cleared  
the air between them, and then made up with  
sex and soft words. So she ignored Tom when he  
said he was leaving, and drew more deeply into  
herself.  
  
When she heard the door open she had a  
momentary impulse to turn around and ask him  
not to leave. If she did, she knew he'd stay.  
Instead she remained silent as the door swished  
closed again.  
  
She turned then and glared at the door. One of  
the things she'd always admired about Tom was  
the fact that he stuck to his convictions, and  
refused to bend to anyone else's will, even  
hers. But right now that trait infuriated her.  
The one time she asked his support, he refused  
to give it.  
  
She knew she wasn't being completely fair, and  
that Tom wasn't disagreeing with her to hurt  
her. He was truly happy with every aspect of  
their daughter. He didn't mind his daughter's  
Klingon attributes right now, but what about  
later?  
  
Another memory flashed into B'Elanna's mind, of  
the camping trip she'd taken with her father  
shortly before he'd left for good, and she  
heard his voice clearly again--  
  
"B'Elanna's changed lately . . .She's become  
moody, unpredictable, difficult--just like her  
mother . . .Everything's a fight . . .I'm not  
sure I  
ever had the constitution to live with one  
Klingon, and now I'm living with two of them."  
  
Her father had been talking to her uncle, but  
she'd overheard his words--words that had made  
her realize how he really felt about her, and  
that explained why he'd left two weeks later  
and had never looked back--because she was too  
Klingon. B'Elanna jumped up from the couch,  
and strode over to the small stand by the  
door. She rummaged through the several PADDs  
she'd brought with her to camouflage the one  
that mattered. She pulled that one out and  
stared at its blank screen without turning it  
on.  
  
Maybe all the research she'd done and scenarios  
she'd considered over the past few hours would  
become moot. Once the doctor studied the  
available data and her baby's genome, he might  
find a medical problem that would prompt him to  
make the changes she'd requested.  
  
B'Elanna winced. Was she actually wishing her  
baby ill? She touched her stomach lightly.  
No, she didn't mean it like that at all.  
  
"I just want the best for you," she whispered.  
"I just want to protect you."  
  
She knew Tom thought he was protecting their  
daughter too, and she wanted to trust that  
response in him, to believe that everything  
would be fine, and that history wouldn't repeat  
itself. She wanted to let it go, but she  
wasn't sure she could.  
  
She walked to the bed and sat down. Then she  
turned the PADD on and brought up an image--  
the result of the data she'd been manipulating  
covertly all afternoon. Deep in thought, she  
stared the image and considered her  
alternatives.  
  
^*^*^*^  
  
"Uh-oh," Harry thought as he stepped into the  
mess hall for his beta shift dinner break. Tom  
was sitting in the corner of the mess hall,  
morosely dragging a fork through some sort of  
limp gelatinous mass congealing on the plate  
in front of him. Four glasses, all but one of  
them empty, were lined up in the table's  
trough. For Tom to be here like this, with  
clear evidence that he'd been here for some  
time, that meant his nice, romantic dinner  
with B'Elanna must not have worked out as  
planned.  
  
Harry went to the replicator and with great  
deliberation punched in his request for  
macaroni and cheese with pleeka rind/tomato  
sauce. As his dinner materialized Harry walked  
slowly to the beverage server, pouring himself  
a glass of fruit juice with care before  
turning in Tom's direction. He wasn't going to  
be able to delay talking with him any longer.  
Strolling casually towards Tom's table, Harry  
tentatively inquired, "What is that stuff?  
From the smell, it must taste as bad as it  
looks."  
  
Tom glanced up at his friend. "You've got that  
right. It's something Neelix conjured up in a  
weak moment of nostalgia. He must have been  
pining over the lost joys of Leola Root  
Surprise."  
  
Harry grinned. Leola root was an ingredient  
that was now mercifully unavailable to the  
Talaxian cook unless he replicated it; since  
it could no longer be grown in Hydroponics.  
Harry's eyes traveled to another table, where  
Icheb was avidly studying a PADD, sipping from  
a glass of Borg "nutritional supplements" that  
looked suspiciously like a chocolate  
milkshake.  
  
"Do you think it's a coincidence that the leola  
root mysteriously stopped growing when Icheb  
came on board?" Harry asked.  
  
That drew a chuckle from Tom. "If it isn't, we  
all owe him a week's worth of replicator  
rations and our eternal gratitude."  
  
Harry laughed along with Tom. "I'm glad we can  
still grow pleeka in hydroponics. I've  
developed quite a taste for it--and so has  
Icheb, I've noticed."  
  
"Pleeka Rind Casserole. After having it for a  
week at a time when I was out of rations, I'm  
sorry I can't enjoy it the way the two of you  
do." Tom emptied the half-filled glass in front  
of him. "Are you done for the night, Harry, or  
is this your lunch break?"  
  
"It's lunch. I'm on for the full shift  
tonight."  
  
Tom sighed. "Too bad. I was thinking about  
borrowing your couch tonight."  
  
"You know what Mulcahy said after he used it  
when his cabin was being repaired."  
  
"That he'd rather sleep on the floor than on  
the lumpiest couch in the Delta Quadrant?  
Yeah, I heard. Beggars can't be choosers,  
though."  
  
"OK--what is it this time, Tom?" Harry asked.  
  
"It's the same old thing, Harry. That Klingon-  
phobia she has about herself."  
  
"She's a little sensitive about being part  
Klingon, that's all."  
  
"A *little* sensitive! Every time I think she's  
finally over it, something else triggers it  
all over again. This time it's 'our child, the  
science lab project.' Let's strip out all the  
Klingon."  
  
Harry understood what had happened immediately.  
"You know she had it rough as a kid. She wants  
your baby to have an easier time."  
  
"You're not saying I should let her have her  
way, are you? Change the baby just because of  
a few ridges on the brow?"  
  
"Maybe you can let her know you're willing to  
listen to her concerns. If you talk it over,  
she might see she's over reacting. And there  
was that one medical problem already. Maybe you  
do need to make sure everything will be all  
right to appease her."  
  
"Appeasing isn't in a Klingon's vocabulary. Or  
a half-Klingon's--even if she won't admit it."  
  
"Well, my couch is your couch, if you're really  
that desperate. It's there, even if I'm not."  
  
"Lumps and all," Tom answered with an  
exaggerated grimace.  
  
"Lumps one way or the other."  
  
"That's the truth."  
  
"But at least in one case the lumps are worth  
it, aren't they?"  
  
Tom sighed. "Yes. But we argue a lot, Harry.  
Sometimes it worries me. A little arguing and  
then a little making up are fine for us, but I  
don't think our child will understand."  
  
"Maybe you can work on fixing that while she's  
pregnant. Both of you are a little on edge  
with the baby coming."  
  
Harry never got a reply, since Icheb picked  
that moment to approach their table and ask,  
"How is Lieutenant Torres feeling?"  
  
"She's okay," Tom said guardedly.  
  
"And how is your daughter doing?"  
  
"Daughter? How do you know the baby's a girl? "  
  
"It's a girl!" Harry, said delightedly, too  
swept up in Icheb's revelation to notice the  
tensing of Tom's jaw.  
  
"Lieutenant Torres requested information on  
gene therapy and resequencing."  
  
Tom's agitation seemingly disappeared, which  
Harry did notice, with trepidation. On those  
rare occasions when Tom became dangerously  
angry, the calmer he seemed to those who did  
not know him well--and Icheb had surely never  
seen this side of Tom. Harry himself hadn't  
seen it for well over a year.  
  
"Treatments? For what?" Tom asked, his voice  
becoming quieter, but more intense with every  
word he uttered.  
  
"Lieutenant Torres called me to ask several  
questions about gene resequencing techniques.  
She said she was working with the doctor to  
correct several more problems he had detected  
and that your daughter might need genetic  
treatments before she's born."  
  
"Did the doctor also call you about this?"  
  
"Lieutenant Torres said she had offered to  
consult with me while he pursued his own  
research. Am I in error?"  
  
"It's somebody's error, all right," Tom said,  
so stiffly and quietly that Harry could barely  
hear the remark.  
  
"Removing so many of the baby's Klingon genes  
is radical procedure. I thought you knew about  
it. . . ." Icheb's voice trailed off in  
confusion.  
  
Tom shook his head. "Oh, I knew about it. I  
just didn't think she would really . . . wait,  
Icheb. What time did my wife ask you about  
this?"  
  
"At 1508 hours . . ."  
  
"That explains it." Tom visibly relaxed.  
"Don't worry about this any more, Icheb. We've  
talked it over since then. The baby is fine  
just the way she is."  
  
Icheb looked even more puzzled. "You did?  
Lieutenant Paris, you were here eating dinner  
when I arrived in the mess hall. Lieutenant  
Torres called me with another question just  
before I walked in. I didn't hear you use your  
comm badge."  
  
The glasses on the table rattled alarmingly as  
Tom jumped up, his eyes glaring sharply blue  
in contrast to his face, which had suffused an  
alarming shade of red. As Tom wordlessly ran  
out the mess hall door, Harry confused Icheb  
even more when he said, under his breath,  
"I'll clean up, Tom. And that couch--I'll make  
sure it's ready, just in case."  
  
Act 3  
  
As Tom pounded down the corridor towards their  
quarters, he tried to calm himself. Most of  
the time, he was the one soothing B'Elanna's  
temper, but this time, he was the one who  
needed it. When he started to gain control of  
his emotions just outside their door, however,  
the image of his daughter's face shimmered  
into his mind. A surge of love mingled with  
fear flooded into his mind. He wanted her just  
the way she was, the girl who, he was sure,  
would look just like her beautiful mother some  
day. He couldn't let her be taken away from  
him.  
  
When Tom burst into their quarters, he saw no  
immediate sign of B'Elanna. He cursed softly.  
He should have called to make sure she was  
still here. Just as his hand went for his  
commbadge, he noticed the light under the  
bathroom door.  
  
His hand dropped to his side and he sat heavily  
on the bed, feeling immensely relieved. She  
was here. For a moment he'd thought--well, he  
didn't know what he'd thought, but he'd been  
unsettled by her absence.  
  
He sighed, and the PADD resting in the middle  
of the bed caught his attention. He glanced  
at the activated display with trepidation,  
after what Icheb had told him. A young girl of  
perhaps twelve or thirteen was pictured on the  
display. With her blond hair and blue eyes,  
she looked a lot like him.  
  
Icheb's words flashed into his mind.  
"Lieutenant Torres requested information on  
gene therapy and resequencing."  
  
Tom's heart sank. It was just as he'd feared.  
B'Elanna obviously had been doing more than  
just thinking about redesigning their  
daughter's genes, she'd actually started  
working on it. If she'd already gone this far,  
how much further was she planning to go?  
  
The bathroom door slid open at that moment,  
and B'Elanna stepped out, wearing a  
camisole and silk boxers. Tom was relieved  
that she obviously didn't plan on going  
anywhere tonight.  
  
B'Elanna turned and saw him, and her gaze went  
immediately to the PADD in his hand.  
  
"B'Elanna--"  
  
"What are you doing?" she asked icily.  
  
"What am *I* doing?" Tom waved the PADD at  
her. "What is this?"  
  
B'Elanna strode forward and snatched the PADD  
from his hand. "This is none of your  
business, and if you weren't reading something  
private--"  
  
"None of my business?" Tom shouted. "Now my  
own daughter is 'none of my business,'  
B'Elanna?"  
  
B'Elanna stepped back slightly. "I didn't  
mean that. And this is just a PADD. I was  
reviewing the data, which I have every right  
to do, in case--"  
  
"In case what? You know there's no medical  
justification for this."  
  
"We don't know that for sure yet."  
  
"That's not what you told Icheb."  
  
"I needed his help! What was I supposed to tell  
him?"  
  
"B'Elanna, this data you've collected is moot.  
The doctor would never agree to making these  
changes, not unless he was reprogrammed or  
something . . ." Tom stopped when he saw the  
sudden change of expression on B'Elanna's face.  
He couldn't believe it. "B'Elanna, you  
weren't going to . . ."  
  
"No!" B'Elanna blurted out, but from the way  
she immediately shifted her eyes away from  
him, Tom knew the truth.  
  
"You were, weren't you? You were going to  
rewrite the doctor's ethical subroutines so he  
would change our baby."  
  
B'Elanna started to shake her head in denial  
but stopped. Staring past the table, still set  
with the dishes for their uneaten supper, and  
at the blank television set, B'Elanna massaged  
her forehead as she collapsed onto the couch.  
"I don't know," she admitted dully.  
  
"Were you even going to tell me?"  
  
"I don't know!" she said again, her voice  
rising in anguish. "I don't even know if I  
really could do it or not, Tom. Don't you see,  
I just want to protect my baby!"  
  
Tom stood over her silently for several  
moments. Finally he sat down next to her.  
"B'Elanna, talk to me. What is this really  
about? What could make you want to do this to  
your daughter?"  
  
"I want her to be accepted, to be happy . . ."  
  
"You can't completely control that, B'Elanna.  
It doesn't matter who she is, you can't force  
everyone to accept her or to love her. She'll  
have to do that on her own."  
  
"I can make sure . . ." B'Elanna stopped.  
  
"Make sure what?" Tom prodded. "Tell me."  
  
After a long, pregnant pause, she whispered, "I  
can make sure her father always loves her."  
  
Tom was speechless. When he found his voice,  
he sputtered, "I *do* love her. Do you  
actually think I'd love her any more if she  
were blond and blue-eyed, and completely  
human?" He shook his head. "There's no fine  
print on the guarantee for me. I already love  
her. Why do you think I wouldn't?"  
  
"I'll bet my father said that once, too. And  
look what happened!"  
  
"Please, don't judge all fathers by what your  
father did, B'Elanna. Or by mine, for that  
matter. I'm not going to be like either of  
them."  
  
B'Elanna gave him a piercing look. "You and  
your father may have had your differences,  
Tom, but he loves you. He always has, and you  
*know* it."  
  
Tom was a little taken aback by her  
indignation. Then he realized that her words  
were true. He hadn't broken his habit of  
being blase, and even cynical when he spoke of  
his father, maybe because he was still afraid  
their fragile reconnection would disappear  
again. But he did know the truth.  
  
"You're right, I do know it," he said quietly.  
"His disappointment with me never had anything  
to do with how I look--which happens to be  
like my mother. The gulf between us was caused  
by his reaction to what I did, and what I  
became because of it."  
  
"And he never stopped loving you, Tom, no  
matter how much you both disappointed each  
other. So you can't possibly understand. My  
father loved me when I was little--but later,  
when I started to look and act too Klingon, it  
was a different story."  
  
"I know your father left, B'Elanna, but that  
doesn't mean it was because of you. Your  
mother and he--"  
  
"You don't know why he left."  
  
"Your mother and he drifted apart, the usual  
reason one parent leaves, and the marriage  
dissolved."  
  
B'Elanna shook her head vehemently. "He left  
because . . .I told him to leave."  
  
Tom frowned. That sounded ridiculous, but he  
could see that B'Elanna was serious. "That's  
hard to believe."  
  
"Believe it!"  
  
Tom listened while B'Elanna poured out her  
story about the ill fated camping trip with  
her uncle and three cousins that B'Elanna had  
hoped would bring her and her father closer  
together. Instead she'd found out he could  
barely tolerate living with one Klingon, let  
alone two.  
  
As her tale painfully unfolded, Tom was  
reminded forcefully of the fully-human  
B'Elanna who had stumbled over part of the  
story when they'd been held by the Vidiians.  
His own B'Elanna had never looked more like  
that distressed human being than now. He tried  
to think of something that might comfort her.  
  
"Sometimes people say things they don't really  
mean just to let off a little steam," he  
interjected. "Or they don't mean it the way it  
sounds."  
  
"You weren't there, Tom," B'Elanna said  
harshly.  
  
That was true. He hadn't been there. If he  
had been, he might have punched John Torres in  
the face for being so dismissive of his  
daughter's feelings afterward, as B'Elanna  
recounted her father's reaction.  
  
"That was when I told him if he couldn't stand  
living with Klingons, then he should leave.  
Two weeks later, that's just what he did."  
  
B'Elanna was hunched over, staring unseeing  
again at the black screen of the television  
set. Tom, dismayed at the bleakness of her  
voice, touched her arm gently. "That's  
coincidental, B'Elanna. He was already unhappy  
in his marriage. I'm sure he didn't leave  
just because you told him to."  
  
"How do you know that?" B'Elanna cried out  
softly.  
  
"Parents split up all the time. That doesn't  
mean he stopped loving you."  
  
B'Elanna looked at Tom, her gaze as empty and  
tormented as her voice. "Then explain to me  
why he never called or wrote me again, why he  
obviously didn't care anymore whether I was  
alive or dead."  
  
Tom couldn't explain; there was no good  
explanation for a man to do that to his child.  
Instead he thought fleetingly that one punch  
wouldn't be nearly enough, and aiming for the  
face would be higher than the man deserved.  
But B'Elanna's father was back in the Alpha  
quadrant, out of his reach, so Tom did the  
only thing he could do; he slipped his arms all  
the way around B'Elanna and hugged her  
tightly. He was thankful she didn't pull  
away. Instead she rested her head on his  
shoulder. He felt her body shake and detected  
the sensation of dampness on his shirt--odd to  
say the least since B'Elanna rarely cried. He  
started to stroke her back when the obvious  
correlation between the story she'd just told  
him and her dismay over their daughter's  
Klingon genes finally hit him. He was the one  
who pulled away and stared at her in  
comprehension.  
  
"You think I'll leave? Is that it?"  
  
B'Elanna looked back at him, her eyes moist.  
"He did."  
  
"I'm not your father, and you're not your  
mother. You can't compare their relationship  
to ours."  
  
"We fight a lot--like my parents did."  
  
"I think I said once that I like scraping  
shields with you, B'Elanna," Tom said lightly.  
"You're father obviously didn't. And didn't  
you tell me once your parents had a passionate,  
whirlwind courtship? We had anything but--the  
whirlwind courtship, that is." His lips  
quirked. "We *have* had our passionate  
moments," he amended, "but we took a much  
longer, more torturous path to marriage."  
  
He'd hoped his comment would coax a smile out  
of B'Elanna, but her expression remained  
somber. Abandoning the humorous approach, he  
added earnestly, "What I'm trying to say is,  
we've worked through a lot of our issues  
already--we've pretty much seen the worst in  
each other. We knew exactly what we were  
getting into when we got married, far more so  
than your parents probably did. And I can  
assure you that I wouldn't still be here if I  
didn't really want to be."  
  
"Neither would I," B'Elanna said. "But we  
can't know the future."  
  
"Not entirely," Tom agreed. "I can't make  
absolute promises, as uncertain as our lives  
are on Voyager. But I can promise you that I  
will never leave you under my own power." He  
lifted a hand and brushed a strand of hair from  
her cheek. "I'm sure we'll still have  
disagreements, and even fights--that's part of  
any marriage. But we can disagree and still  
love and respect each other. And that's the  
other thing that won't ever change--the fact  
that I love you, B'Elanna. I know I don't say  
it very much, but I'll say it more--I'll say it  
over and over if you'll just believe it."  
  
"I do believe it," B'Elanna said. "Saying the  
words doesn't mean everything. When I was  
little my father told me he loved me all the  
time, but he left anyway."  
  
"I'm sorry about the way he treated you,  
B'Elanna. He was an idiot, and it was his  
loss." He frowned, and his hand slipped from  
her cheek. "I know I've had my idiot moments  
too, but that doesn't mean I'd walk out on my  
own daughter someday. She's my daughter, too,  
B'Elanna. My flesh and blood. Nothing is  
ever going to make me walk away from her. I'll  
love her just the way she is, and I hope you  
can too."  
  
B'Elanna looked stricken at Tom's words and  
the resigned expression on his face. "I'm not  
saying *you're* going to leave --"  
  
"Yes, you are," Tom said with a small, sad  
smile.  
  
B'Elanna wanted to think of a way to deny what  
he'd said, but couldn't. Wasn't that exactly  
what she'd been thinking, why she'd spent  
hours designing a child she thought he could  
love enough not to ever leave? She'd been  
telling herself she was only reviewing the  
doctor's program parameters out of curiosity,  
"just in case," but she'd started laying the  
groundwork, preparing for that possibility. She  
wanted to believe it hadn't crossed her mind,  
but it had. She had rejected her daughter as  
surely as her father had rejected her by  
wanting her daughter to be someone else, just  
as her father had wanted her to be someone  
else. How could she have ever let things get  
so out of control in her own mind? She felt  
ashamed she'd let old childhood memories take  
over her emotions so completely.  
  
B'Elanna picked up the PADD she'd dropped on  
the couch and looked at the child she'd  
designed, the one she'd thought would be more  
worthy of love than the child she was already  
carrying. With one quick press of a button she  
deleted the work she'd done. Then she looked  
at her husband. "Tom, I'm sorry--"  
  
"For what?" Tom took the now blank PADD from  
her hand and set it on the coffee table. "You  
didn't really do anything."  
  
She knew that distinction was a fine one. She  
hadn't actually acted, but the impulse had  
been there. "I don't know if you can  
understand, Tom, but I was never thinking about  
you, I was thinking about my father. I do  
know that you'll never walk away from your  
daughter. I know that you'll be a wonderful  
father."  
  
"And you'll be a wonderful mother, B'Elanna."  
He put a hand over her abdomen. "Our baby is  
perfect just as she is, and beautiful, just  
like her mother."  
  
B'Elanna smiled tremulously. "You really think  
so?"  
  
"Think? I know so! She's gorgeous. I'm going to  
have to beat men away from her with a stick  
some day, you wait and see."  
  
B'Elanna chuckled. "She is kind of cute isn't  
she?"  
  
"Kind of?" Tom asked. "If we have two or  
three more, and they're all just like you,  
that will be fine with me too."  
  
B'Elanna shook her head. "Let's just get  
through one first."  
  
"Okay, but I mean it. I'll be happy living  
with two Klingons, or three, or even six  
Klingons. In fact, when we get back to the  
Alpha quadrant, we can move to the Klingon  
homeworld if you want."  
  
B'Elanna wrinkled her nose. "That's okay. We  
don't have to go *that* far. Besides you'd  
probably get challenged to bat'leth fights  
twice a day."  
  
"So?" Tom grinned. "I still keep up with my  
practices in the bat'leth program. I've  
gotten pretty good, in fact."  
  
He'd often invited her to join him in that  
program, and B'Elanna had almost always  
refused. She wondered how good he really was.  
Knowing how he hard he worked on anything he  
really enjoyed, she wouldn't be surprised if  
he'd gotten quite good indeed. "That may be,  
but I still think we can find somewhere else  
to live."  
  
Tom shrugged. "Okay. We can live on Earth,  
Mars, a deep space station, another starship,  
wherever. The place doesn't matter, as long  
as you're with me--and our brood of kids of  
course."  
  
B'Elanna laughed softly, but she felt warm  
knowing that Tom was entirely serious.  
  
Tom changed the subject slightly. "Speaking of  
the bat'leth, you haven't joined me in that  
program in a long time."  
  
"I wonder what the doctor would say about me  
taking up Klingon martial arts right now."  
  
"True. Maybe we should save that for after  
she's born. But we were going to study the  
sacred scrolls, too, and we've never gotten  
around to it. I don't see why the Doc would  
have any objections to that. I think we should  
get around to it, for our daughter's sake. I  
want her to appreciate her heritage--all of  
it."  
  
B'Elanna nodded. It was something to think  
about. "We'll talk about that later. At the  
moment, I have other things on my mind."  
  
Tom smiled back at her, a familiar glint in his  
eye. "Tomorrow, then. I've got a few other  
things on my mind right now, too." He leaned  
forward and whispered, "I love you, B'Elanna.  
And I love our daughter, too, no matter what.  
Just to make sure you haven't forgotten yet."  
  
She hadn't. And she wouldn't.  
  
^*^*^*^  
  
Tom fiddled with the controls for a few  
seconds before entering the holodeck. This  
program wasn't totally new; he hadn't wanted  
to fritter away a lot of spare time  
constructing one from scratch when B'Elanna  
needed him. Besides, this program prompted  
fond memories. He had helped B'Elanna put it  
together a long time ago, to mark a special  
day. That the day had turned out to be a  
pivotal day in their lives just made it that  
much better.  
  
As far as he knew B'Elanna had never actually  
finished experiencing this program, but that  
no longer mattered to him. What he had always  
wanted the program to convey to B'Elanna did  
matter, very much. Despite taking steps in the  
right direction, she always seemed to pull  
back before fully embracing her total self.  
After her experience with her mother's --  
spirit? image? hallucination?--whatever had  
happened on the Barge of the Dead, B'Elanna  
had appeared to accept her Klingon heritage  
more completely than she actually had, judging  
from what she had considered doing to their  
baby. Try as he might, he couldn't ignore the  
feeling that he had to share responsibility  
for what might have happened. Too many times  
when she'd needed his support, when she  
struggled alone with her feelings about  
herself and her heritage, he had thoughtlessly  
retreated to the holodeck or the shuttlebay.  
True, he'd always made an initial attempt to  
help her, but he'd put up little resistance to  
her rebuffs when he should have stood his  
ground. When he should have been there for her.  
  
Going to the holodeck this time was different,  
though. It was research, like going to a  
library--just a lot more fun than pouring over  
dusty paper books or squinting at a terminal.  
"Yeah, right, Paris," he murmured to himself  
with a rueful smile, as he continued punching  
data into the control pad.  
  
Finally satisfied with the changes, Tom entered  
the holodeck. His nose was immediately  
assaulted by greasy smelling smoke spilling  
out of a double row of sputtering torches and  
the scent of wax from a multitude of flickering  
candles that, together, splashed light upon  
the walls of twisting cavern passageways.  
Tom's mouth quirked a little as he remembered  
sneaking in those small but critical details  
when he'd helped B'Elanna formulate the  
logarithms for the original program. He  
recognized the junction where he'd once  
encountered a very unhappy hologram, punched  
in the eye by a certain very reluctant  
celebrant of the Day of Honor. That brought a  
smile to his face, too.  
  
At last he came to a cavern that was carved  
into a room. A small, high window hollowed  
into the rock let in a modicum of murky  
natural light. Along the wall beneath the  
window, a series of shelving units were fitted  
with slabs of wood, set on an angle, to form  
diamond shapes. Each diamond held a multitude  
of rolled parchment scrolls. In front of the  
shelving, a heavy wooden table held a pair of  
spirals fashioned of roughly hammered silvery-  
gray metal, each fitted with a half-dozen  
candles. The table's rough-hewn surface was  
scarred and pitted, as if a warrior had once  
used it as a target for throwing his *d'k tahg*  
and *mek'leth*.  
  
The room was silent and empty. The one he had  
expected to find was not there.  
  
After waiting patiently for a few minutes, Tom  
called out, "Is the librarian here?"  
  
A figure dressed in long robes whirled into the  
room, the glare in his eyes flashing as  
brightly as the bat'leth he carried.  
"Librarian?" roared the Klingon. "Who slanders  
this holy place and invites a carved-out  
heart?"  
  
"Whoops. Poor choice of words," Tom said,  
stepping back on his heels. "What I meant to  
say was, 'Are you the spiritual . . . guide  
who will help me with my research?' "  
  
Mollified, the Klingon strode close enough to  
Tom to stare intently into the pilot's eyes.  
"And why does a human come here to do  
'research'?" he asked belligerently.  
  
At that moment, sneezing over dusty books or  
peering into a flickering terminal screen  
seemed a lot more appealing than they had an  
hour ago, but Tom quietly responded, "To keep a  
promise."  
  
"What promise is this?"  
  
"I promised my wife that we could study the  
sacred scrolls together. She is half-Klingon  
and . . . um . . . it's been a while since she  
studied them with her mother."  
  
"I see. And this half-Klingon . . . have we  
seen her here before?"  
  
"Uh, yeah. But a lot has happened since then."  
  
"And you think *you* could become her  
*DevwI'*?" The Klingon's low voice resonated  
with scorn. Obviously, B'Elanna's last visit  
was remembered.  
  
Tom knew enough Klingon to correctly translate  
the Klingon term--"the one who guides".  
"Yes, I do. With you to show me the way."  
  
The hologram studied Tom closely for several  
more seconds, no doubt assessing Tom's  
sincerity. Tom stood erect and stared back  
into the Klingon's eyes unflinchingly. "And you  
think you are a warrior who is worthy of this  
sacred task?"  
  
"I'm working on it," Tom admitted. Those dusty  
books were looking better all the time.  
  
Tom's answer seemed to satisfy the Klingon,  
however. He carefully placed the bat'leth he  
held upon a stand near the table and said,  
"Come, sit down. Tell me what you already know  
of our rituals and beliefs."  
  
"Is there a name I can call you, *DevwI'*?"  
  
"*DevwI'* will do."  
  
Tom hadn't had anyone particular in mind,  
but his guide, his *DevwI',*  
looked considerably younger than he'd  
expected. He had instructed the computer to  
create a composite, based upon the  
characteristics of the known writers of the  
sacred scrolls, to personify their contents.  
The authors who had created the rituals and  
commentaries so important to the Klingon  
people apparently had never made it to  
grizzled, venerable sage. Since so much of  
Klingon culture and ritual was predicated upon  
the ways of warriors, who tend to live the  
sort of lives that land them in *Sto-Vo-Kor*  
much earlier than, say, your garden variety  
librarian, perhaps Tom shouldn't have been so  
surprised.  
  
The guide certainly knew his stuff, though. On  
several occasions, Tom was left to squirm  
uncomfortably as his guide discussed deeds of  
honor and duty, reminding him of times that  
his own had fallen far short of heroic Klingon  
standards, or even barely passable human  
standards. One mistake still pained him so  
much he could barely face it, even after all  
this time. Whenever he thought about honor, he  
could not fail to think of it--so painful, he  
had tried to deny it happened to himself as  
much as to those to whom he had given the lie.  
Tom had paid a terrible price for that lie.  
Only when Voyager had become stranded in the  
Delta Quadrant had the opportunity to redeem  
himself become possible. Though he felt  
reasonably sure others thought he had met that  
challenge; sometimes he still struggled to  
believe it himself.  
  
Tom's discomfort eased when the guide discussed  
the many ways a warrior meets the challenge to  
be honorable, whether enduring pain or torture  
in the name of duty, facing the unknown to  
increase knowledge or even sacrificing one's  
life so that others might live. He had done  
all of these things since arriving in the  
Delta Quadrant. B'Elanna had, too, even though  
she usually shrugged off her own deeds as "just  
another engineering job," no matter how much  
risk to herself the task had entailed. Tom  
didn't know if the guide realized it, but Tom  
saw that following the Klingon "Way of the  
Warrior" was as important to him as it was for  
B'Elanna. A way to get her to accept that  
fact, though--that still eluded him. Still, he  
felt confident he could overcome it, with  
time. That is, until . . .  
  
"So, Thomas, son of Owen of the House of Paris,  
what Klingon traditions have you followed with  
your bride so far?" the *DevwI'* asked.  
  
Touchy subject. "We celebrate the Day of Honor  
as a special day." No need to let him know  
that the celebration was a personal sort of  
anniversary, not directly related to Klingons.  
"And, um. Well, we've worked out with  
*bat'leths* . . . sometimes . . . " He left  
out the fact that B'Elanna rarely joined him  
in that pursuit. He thought about the Klingon  
warrior romance novels they'd both read, but  
doubted that would qualify in this case. He  
frantically tried to think of something else  
to add to the pitifully short list, but his  
open mouth, unable to name any more examples,  
gave him away.  
  
"Is that ALL???" the guide cried out,  
incredulous.  
  
"We haven't been married that long . . ." Tom  
began, then decided that reticence wasn't  
going to be of any help to him, or to  
B'Elanna.  
  
"The truth is, my wife has a lot of painful  
memories from growing up half-Klingon on a  
world where she and her mother were the only  
ones in the neighborhood. That was tough  
enough, but B'Elanna and her parents also had .  
. . issues. Her mother celebrated the holidays  
and taught B'Elanna many Klingon rituals, but  
as a child B'Elanna didn't fully appreciate  
them. And she hasn't really felt comfortable  
enough to follow them much on Voyager, where  
she's the only one of Klingon blood . . .  
although I know they mean much more to her now  
. . ." Tom's voice trailed off. They did, he  
was sure of it, if only she would admit it.  
  
Suddenly too restless to remain seated in his  
chair, Tom stood up and began to pace from one  
end of the room to another, his face carefully  
turned away from the guide. "A while ago  
B'Elanna had an incredible experience. She  
almost died in a shuttle accident. While she  
was unconscious, she experienced a vision that  
her mother had been condemned to Grethor.  
After she came to, she insisted we help her die  
clinically so she could go back and save Miral  
--that's B'Elanna's mother--and send her to  
*Sto-Vo-Kor*. We did it; B'Elanna saved her  
mother; and we managed to get B'Elanna back.  
  
"At the time, I wasn't sure if her mother was  
dead. I always thought it was some sort of  
hallucination--B'Elanna trying to accept her  
Klingon heritage--you know? Since we've been  
able to exchange messages regularly with home,  
though, we found out Miral really did die on  
that day. Now I can't believe it was only a  
hallucination. That's too much of a  
coincidence. Or at least, I hope it wasn't a  
coincidence. I'd like to think that B'Elanna  
had that chance to patch things up between her  
mother and herself, that she helped her mother  
travel to *Sto-Vo-Kor*. B'Elanna isn't ever  
going to have a chance to make things right  
between them on this plane of existence, now  
that her mother's gone." Tom sighed as he  
confessed, "I'd actually promised B'Elanna I'd  
study the scrolls with her if she *didn't* try  
to save her mother. I'm glad she didn't take me  
up on it. But last night, I promised again, to  
myself, that we were going to do it anyway.  
Study the scrolls together. Make Klingon  
traditions--as well as human ones--part of our  
family life."  
  
His voice softened. "We're going to have a  
baby, *DevwI',* and these traditions--they're  
important; I know they are. Important to  
B'Elanna, sure, but even more so to our  
daughter. And to me. I haven't always been the  
kind of guy a nice Klingon girl brings home to  
mother. I've changed a lot, but I know I've  
got farther to go. I hope this can help."  
  
Tom stopped his restless pacing. Slowly, he  
turned to face the guide, not sure what his  
reception would be. Tom had heard nothing more  
than a few grunts from the guide throughout his  
narrative. The guide looked at him  
thoughtfully, but not in anger, as Tom had  
half-expected. Slowly the Klingon stood up and  
walked towards Tom.  
  
"Truth and honor are intertwined with each  
other, Thomas; and what I have heard from you  
now is surely the truth. It is as you say. You  
must observe the rituals to help your coming  
child to be strong in her Klingon heritage and  
to enrich your family life. I know a simple  
ritual that B'Elanna must surely have followed  
with her mother. From what you have just told  
me the mother of your B'Elanna dwells now in  
*Sto-Vo-Kor*, but the dead cannot rest unless  
the living remember their sacrifices and honor  
their memories."  
  
As the guide described the traditional prayer  
to him, Tom breathed easier. This was right.  
It felt right. He knew he had done the right  
thing by coming here, for himself, as well as  
for B'Elanna.  
  
Act 4  
  
B'Elanna walked into the mess hall just before  
the dinner rush. She'd finished her shift on  
time today, with the intention of getting home  
early. Then Tom had called to let her know  
that he'd be working an hour late finishing his  
navigation reports. It wasn't exactly unusual  
for Tom to put off reports until the last  
minute, but she knew the events of the past  
couple days--or, more accurately, what she'd  
put him through--had contributed to his mind  
being otherwise occupied. It was definitely  
her turn to handle replicating dinner tonight,  
as soon as she found out why she'd been called  
to the mess hall.  
  
Neelix was tending to a large, steaming pot on  
the stove, but he turned immediately as she  
approached and greeted her with a wide smile.  
"Lieutenant Torres! I was hoping you'd show up  
a little early for dinner."  
  
"Actually, Tom and I plan to have dinner in our  
quarters tonight."  
  
Neelix nodded sagely. "Ah, I understand.  
Still celebrating the wonderful news."  
  
Finally celebrating the wonderful news was  
closer to the truth, but B'Elanna simply  
agreed with Neelix. "Yes."  
  
"If you're considering names for your daughter,  
I think Alixia is a beautiful name."  
  
B'Elanna knew Alixia had been his sister's  
name. "It is a beautiful name. I'll put it  
on the list."  
  
Neelix looked pleased. "Oh. I guess you're  
curious about why I called you."  
  
She was, and as Neelix turned back to the  
stove, she asked, "What is it this time? Oven  
coil conductors? Replicator circuits?"  
  
"Nothing like that," Neelix replied, removing  
the kettle of hot water he always kept on the  
warmer. He rummaged for a cup. "I know  
you'll have to cut down on stimulants--I  
remember Samantha Wildman complaining about  
that when she was pregnant. So I came up with  
a new herbal tea blend I think you might enjoy  
as a substitute."  
  
B'Elanna was already a little annoyed that  
she'd have to give up coffee and raktajino,  
and she wasn't particular fond of herbal tea,  
particularly some of the "special" blends  
Neelix had concocted in his tea-making career.  
"I appreciate your effort, Neelix, but--"  
  
"Don't mention it," Neelix said cheerfully, as  
he prepared the tea. "I prepared this blend  
especially to soothe the aches and stresses of  
pregnancy--not that pregnancy is an affliction  
of course, but it can be a little exhausting.  
I used several herbs with restorative  
properties, including one from Rynax that is  
known to bestow a pleasant sense of calm and  
serenity upon expectant mothers."  
  
B'Elanna started to tell Neelix indignantly  
that she'd didn't want to be treated  
differently because she was pregnant, but she  
stopped herself. Instead she accepted the  
steaming cup he offered her as the gesture of  
kindness and friendship she knew he intended.  
  
Neelix watched her as she took a cautious sip.  
Her eyebrows rose at the strong, sweet taste.  
She liked it. "This is . . . good."  
  
Neelix beamed at B'Elanna's assessment. "I'll  
whip up a batch for you to keep in your  
quarters. I'm about to serve dinner, but I  
can get it to you later tonight."  
  
"Why don't I pick it up tomorrow?" B'Elanna  
suggested. She didn't really want Neelix  
showing up at her and Tom's door tonight.  
"And thanks, Neelix. I really appreciate  
this."  
  
"You're very welcome, Lieutenant," Neelix said.  
He clapped his hands together as if a thought  
had just occurred to him. "I'd better add  
this blend to my recipe database. At the  
moment you and Tom are the only couple  
expecting, but who knows? There may be others  
following in your wake, and I may as well be  
prepared."  
  
B'Elanna smiled at Neelix's frank anticipation  
of such a potential development. "Could be,"  
she agreed. "I see Chakotay over in the  
corner. I think I'll join him for a minute."  
  
Neelix nodded, and turned his attention to the  
pot on the stove. It looked close to boiling  
over and he scampered toward it, calling over  
his shoulder to her, "I'll have that blend for  
you tomorrow morning at breakfast."  
  
B'Elanna watched Neelix wrestle momentarily  
with the pot, and then she crossed the mess  
hall. Chakotay was studying a PADD intently,  
but when she sat down at his table, he looked  
up and smiled. "Hello, B'Elanna. Or shall I  
start calling you 'mom'?"  
  
B'Elanna gave him a mock scowl. She wasn't  
sure why everyone found variations of that  
question so amusing. "You and everyone else  
can call me Lieutenant Torres," she said  
sharply as took a sip of her tea.  
  
Chakotay wasn't fazed by her annoyance. "What  
are you drinking?"  
  
"Neelix prepared a special blend of herbal tea  
for me."  
  
"Really." Chakotay looked at the cup  
dubiously. "How does it taste?"  
  
"Very good actually. And, according to Neelix,  
drinking it will give me a sense of calm and  
serenity appropriate for a mother-to-be."  
  
Chakotay erupted into laughter, and B'Elanna  
speared him with a hard look. "Is that funny,  
Chakotay?"  
  
Chakotay cleared his throat, though humor still  
lingered in his eyes. "I was just picturing  
you gliding calmly and serenely through  
engineering, with a beatific smile on your  
face. I have a feeling the resulting shock  
and confusion would prevent any real work from  
being accomplished."  
  
B'Elanna's lips twitched. "You don't have to  
worry about that happening."  
  
"Good. I like our quick-tempered, dedicated  
chief engineer just the way she is." Chakotay  
voice held only genuine affection, and he  
studied her as he took a sip from his cup of  
coffee. "However, you are looking very pleased  
with yourself today. I take it you're  
completely happy with the idea of being  
pregnant now."  
  
B'Elanna didn't miss the implication that she  
hadn't been happy about it all along. She  
remembered how she'd rushed past him last  
night in Engineering when he'd tried to talk to  
her. "I'm sorry I brushed you off yesterday."  
  
Chakotay shrugged. "I'm used to it," he said,  
Truthfully. They both knew B'Elanna had a long  
habit of closing people out when she was  
troubled, even those closest to her. "I was  
worried about you though. You looked  
. . . upset."  
  
"I was upset about something," B'Elanna  
admitted. "But Tom and I worked it out.  
Everything's fine now."  
  
Chakotay didn't press her for details. "Then  
I'm glad," he said. "For both of you."  
  
"I am happy about this baby, Chakotay,"  
B'Elanna told him earnestly. "Very happy.  
Tom and I both are."  
  
Chakotay reached out squeezed her hand.  
"That's all I wanted to hear." He released  
her hand and gave her a speculative look.  
"So, have you and Tom discussed names yet?"  
  
B'Elanna groaned good-naturedly. "Not you too,  
Chakotay."  
  
"I just thought I'd mention that the feminine  
version of my name is Chakotaya. Or Taya for  
short. Has quite a ring to it, doesn't it?"  
  
"Oh, yeah," B'Elanna said dryly, hoping the sly  
grin at Chakotay's face meant that he was  
mostly teasing. She repeated what was  
becoming a mantra, "I'll add it to the list."  
  
Chakotay was nodding, the grin still on his  
face, when his commbadge beeped.  
  
"Ensign Lang to Commander Chakotay."  
  
"Chakotay here."  
  
"Commander, that sensor ghost has appeared  
again."  
  
Ensign Lang, who was manning the helm for the  
beta shift, sounded uneasy, and Chakotay looked  
at B'Elanna. The sensor ghost had first  
appeared this morning. After a sensor  
recalibration it had disappeared and several  
subsequent sweeps had found no trace of it.  
  
"I'll relay the message. Carry on with your  
duties, Ensign. Chakotay out."  
  
B'Elanna tapped her commbadge. "Torres to  
Carey."  
  
The reply was almost immediate. "Carey here."  
  
"The sensor ghost is back. Let Seven know, and  
get a team to work on it. Do a level one  
diagnostic and *find* the problem."  
  
"I'll take care of it. Carey out."  
  
Chakotay shook his head. "There's nothing like  
a sensor ghost to spook the crew."  
  
B'Elanna snorted. "Nice play on words,  
Chakotay, but you know those things always turn  
out to be sensor glitches."  
  
"Almost always," Chakotay agreed.  
  
B'Elanna didn't like them either. Nothing was  
more annoying than something that stayed just  
out of the range of detection, but it usually  
turned out to be a false alarm. "By tomorrow,  
the glitch will be gone, and so will the  
ghost."  
  
Chakotay's attention was diverted as someone  
approached their table. "Hello, Naomi,  
Samantha."  
  
"Lieutenant, I never got to offer my  
congratulations," Sam said as B'Elanna looked  
up. "I'm very happy for you and Tom." She  
squeezed Naomi's shoulder. "I'm not an expert,  
but having been through it, if there's  
anything you ever want to ask me, feel free."  
  
"Thanks," B'Elanna said sincerely. "If it will  
help me escape some of the doctor's expert  
advice, I'm sure I'll take you up on that."  
  
Sam and B'Elanna shared a knowing smile before  
Naomi spoke. "Lieutenant Torres, I wanted to  
let you know that I'm available to babysit  
once your baby is born."  
  
"Babysit?" B'Elanna echoed, meeting Naomi's  
eager gaze.  
  
"I have a lot of experience. I helped the  
doctor take care of the baby we rescued from  
the Borg, until we found her people again."  
  
B'Elanna nodded. "I remember, Naomi." She  
regretted for a moment that she hadn't spent  
any time with the baby. She could have used  
the experience.  
  
"So many people on Voyager helped take care of  
me when I was a child, and taught me things,  
like Tom--Lieutenant Paris--teaching me how to  
fly a shuttle. I feel like it's my turn to  
give something back."  
  
B'Elanna saw Sam's eyebrows rise at Naomi's  
words, probably at her daughter's past tense  
reference to being a child. B'Elanna was just  
noticing herself that Naomi was starting to  
blossom into a young woman, at an impossibly  
young age for anyone who didn't have Ktarian  
blood in her veins. Sam looked at B'Elanna and  
nodded almost imperceptibly.  
  
"I know Tom and I will be happy to take you up  
on your offer when the time comes," B'Elanna  
told Naomi. "Thank you."  
  
Naomi smiled happily. "When will she be born?"  
  
"In about six months, give or take a couple of  
weeks," B'Elanna said. That was the doctor's  
best guess anyway.  
  
Naomi looked disappointed. "That long?"  
  
Sam laughed. "It does take a while, Naomi."  
  
Her daughter rolled her eyes in exasperation.  
"I *know.*"  
  
"In fact, you took over a month longer to be  
born than the doctor originally estimated,"  
Sam noted. She gave B'Elanna a wry smile.  
"Having a baby with a hybrid nature is a little  
more . . .adventurous than a normal pregnancy."  
Then she returned her gaze to her daughter.  
"But the payoff is worth it."  
  
Naomi returned her mother's fond look, the  
previous moment of chagrin clearly forgiven.  
Then she grinned at B'Elanna. "Isn't being a  
hybrid wonderful?" she asked, giving B'Elanna  
no chance to answer. "I love being human and  
Ktarian, because I get to have the best of  
both heritages. I'm glad your baby's going to  
be special too."  
  
B'Elanna glanced at Chakotay, who'd been  
listening silently to the conversation. Then  
she smiled at Naomi. "So am I," she said  
softly. She meant that with full sincerity,  
which made her even gladder.  
  
"Hey, here comes Icheb," Naomi announced. She  
motioned to the young man who had just entered  
the mess hall, waving him over. "Mom, can  
Icheb eat dinner with us? We want to talk  
some more about the Starfleet Academy entrance  
requirements."  
  
Sam nodded, though her gaze on her daughter was  
sharp as Naomi greeted Icheb.  
  
"Commander Chakotay, Lieutenant Torres," Icheb  
said, including them in the general greetings.  
"Lieutenant, I hope the genetic information I  
provided to you proved useful."  
  
"It did answer my questions," B'Elanna said  
quickly. "I appreciate your help, but  
everything turned out to be just fine."  
  
"I am pleased to hear that, Lieutenant," Icheb  
replied.  
  
"The spinal procedure was successful, wasn't  
it?" Sam asked, looking mildly concerned.  
  
"Yes," B'Elanna assured her. "My baby's  
completely healthy now."  
  
Sam smiled. "I'm glad, for you and for  
Lieutenant Paris. Have a nice evening,  
Lieutenant, and Commander." She waved a hand  
at Naomi and Icheb. "All right, kids, let's  
go."  
  
Icheb's eyebrow rose at Sam's form of address.  
He looked vaguely insulted, but before he  
could reply Naomi hooked an arm in his. They  
followed Sam toward the kitchen where Neelix  
had begun serving dinner.  
  
Chakotay watched them depart and shook his  
head. "Give it another year, and I predict  
we're going to have two lovesick teenagers on  
board."  
  
"Naomi's not a teenager," B'Elanna said  
automatically, though she realized on second  
glance that if Naomi wasn't there yet, she was  
right on the cusp. No wonder Sam was giving  
her daughter such apprehensive looks.  
  
"Poor Sam," B'Elanna murmured, meeting  
Chakotay's astute gaze. "I'm glad human and  
Klingon maturation rates are so similar." She  
wanted as long a period as possible before  
she'd have to deal with her daughter's  
puberty. She remembered making her own  
mother's life very difficult at that time.  
  
"I'd say Icheb's also well aware of Naomi's  
maturity," Chakotay said dryly.  
  
B'Elanna frowned. "I haven't noticed him  
acting any differently." Though she honestly  
hadn't notice when Icheb had a crush on her a  
couple months ago--  
  
"That's because you're not a man," Chakotay  
said. He smiled at B'Elanna's irritated look.  
"Believe me, I've seen his eyes follow her.  
Not unlike the way Tom's eyes followed you for  
several months before he ever actually started  
pursuing you."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yes. I had the urge to punch him more than  
once at the time, hard. But I guess it turned  
out okay in the end."  
  
B'Elanna smiled at Chakotay's blithe  
assessment. "Yes, it did."  
  
Chakotay stood, picking up his cup and PADD.  
"I have to get going."  
  
B'Elanna stood too. She'd finished her tea,  
and she wanted to get back to her quarters.  
"You're not eating dinner here tonight?"  
  
"I'm having dinner with the captain," Chakotay  
said, as they both walked toward the doors.  
  
"Again?"  
  
Chakotay gave B'Elanna a sharp look. "Don't  
start."  
  
"Are you bringing the cider, or is she  
supplying it this time?" B'Elanna asked  
innocently.  
  
Chakotay sighed as he set his cup on the  
counter a distance away from where Neelix was  
filling plates for his waiting customers.  
"It's a work meeting. We need to go over next  
week's duty rosters."  
  
"You two have to do that a lot, don't you? Most  
night's, in fact . . ."  
  
"Goodnight," Chakotay said meaningfully. She  
was still smiling as he kissed her cheek. "If  
I haven't said it, I'm happy for you,  
B'Elanna. And for Tom."  
  
"Thanks," B'Elanna murmured, though Chakotay  
was already striding past the line of crew  
waiting to fill their plates. She followed  
several steps behind, nodding to Neelix, who  
glanced up from his work and smiled. As she  
passed, she glanced at one of the plates being  
carried away from the kitchen, generously  
laden with some sort of stew. She wondered  
what she should replicate for dinner, but  
before she could come up with a menu plan she  
nearly ran into Harry as he entered the mess  
hall.  
  
Harry apologized immediately. "Hey, Maquis.  
Sorry--"  
  
B'Elanna pulled him out into the corridor.  
"Did Tom talk to you at lunch?"  
  
Harry looked surprised by her question, but he  
shook his head. "Tom didn't come to the mess  
hall for lunch. I think he had to finish a  
late report in sickbay."  
  
Though the two of them freely harassed each  
other, Harry didn't smirk as he usually would  
about Tom's tardiness, and B'Elanna assumed it  
was because Harry understood the nature of  
Tom's recent preoccupation.  
  
"I guess Tom and I have both had a few things  
to deal with over the past couple of days,"  
B'Elanna said ruefully.  
  
"Seems like everything's fine now," Harry said.  
"Tom was his cheerful self on the bridge  
today, and you look pretty happy."  
  
B'Elanna smiled. "Everything is fine, Harry.  
Better than fine. Except that I have to ask  
you for a favor."  
  
Harry looked at her curiously. "Shoot."  
  
"Tom and I talked about it this morning, and  
we'd both like you to be our baby's  
godfather."  
  
Harry's eyes widened, and he stared at B'Elanna  
mutely.  
  
B'Elanna snorted with amusement after several  
seconds. "Harry, I hope you're speechless  
with delight."  
  
Harry managed to stutter a few words, "Uh,  
well, yeah--"  
  
"Why are you so shocked? You're our best  
friend. You've been there for us both through  
some pretty trying times. Who else would we  
chose?"  
  
A brilliant smile lit Harry's face, and he gave  
B'Elanna an impulsive, hard hug. A moment  
later he pulled away and patted her arm as if  
he was worried he'd injured her. "Sorry--"  
  
"Harry, do you think I couldn't still slam you  
to the ground in a nanosecond, twist your arm  
behind your back, and make you cry 'uncle'  
four hundred times, all without breaking a  
sweat?"  
  
Harry laughed at B'Elanna's irritated question.  
"I know you could. And, for the record, I'd  
be very honored to be your daughter's  
godfather, even if she'll probably be able to  
beat me up by the time she's three."  
  
B'Elanna smiled, mollified. "Good. And she  
may not be able to beat you up until she's  
five."  
  
"That's a comfort," Harry said with mock  
relief. Then he motioned toward the mess hall  
door. "You meeting Tom here?"  
  
"No. We're going to try once again to have a  
private celebration in our quarters."  
  
Harry smiled. "Make sure you disable the comm  
line into your quarters," he said, referring  
to the fact that B'Elanna got summoned more  
often while off duty than anyone else on the  
ship. "And have a good time."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
Harry started to turn toward the mess hall,  
then stopped. "Oh, one more thing--"  
  
"You have a suggestion for the baby's name, or  
you want to start calling me 'mom,'" B'Elanna  
guessed.  
  
Harry gave her a perplexed look. "No.  
Neither."  
  
B'Elanna sighed with relief. "I knew there was  
a reason I'm so fond of you, Harry."  
  
"Uh, thanks," Harry said, still looking  
confused. "I just want you to tell Tom that  
I'm really honored to be your baby's  
godfather. I promise I'll do a great job, and  
I'll teach her everything I know."  
  
"You mean you'll make sure she's familiar with  
every Captain Proton episode you and Tom have  
ever programmed?" B'Elanna asked facetiously.  
  
Harry grinned. "That too."  
  
B'Elanna smiled and shook her head as Harry  
disappeared into the mess hall. Then she  
turned and headed home.  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*^*  
  
As B'Elanna entered their quarters, she  
realized immediately that Tom had beat her  
here. And from her first glance around she  
could see that he'd done so intentionally.  
  
"What happened to those navigation reports?"  
she asked, as he walked toward her.  
  
"I worked fast," he said.  
  
Looking past him curiously, she noted that the  
toaster had been spirited away out of sight. A  
simple red banner hung in the corner, above  
the television set. A low table in the middle  
of the room bore a large candle which burned on  
a flat plate set upon a table cloth that  
matched the banner. The only things she  
acknowledged, however, was another object.  
"What's this? A bat'leth? I don't know if the  
Doctor is going to approve of me working out  
with you on the holodeck in one of your  
bat'leth programs."  
  
He grinned. "This is a special one. This is an  
heirloom bat'leth."  
  
B'Elanna laughed. "And where did you get hold  
of an 'heirloom' bat'leth out here?"  
  
"I replicated it."  
  
She laughed harder. "Some heirloom."  
  
"Every heirloom was new once, B'Elanna. Just  
think of it as the first emblem of our house.  
Something for our daughter to take pride in."  
  
B'Elanna picked up the blade gingerly. It was  
engraved along the edge of the blade next to  
the inner handle, in a flowing script version  
of Federation Standard that complemented the  
Klingon text alongside it: "The House of  
Paris," "B'Elanna, daughter of Miral,"  
"Thomas, son of Owen." The weapon was  
classically proportioned, perfectly balanced,  
lethally beautiful. A fitting blade to pass on  
to their progeny.  
  
"The House of *Paris*?" B'Elanna asked dryly.  
  
Tom shrugged, affecting nonchalance. "If you  
insist, we can use your last name."  
  
Her father's name. B'Elanna had kept it for  
various reasons, but she preferred her  
daughter carry the name of her own father,  
rather than her human grandfather who would  
never be a part of her life. It was the best  
name for their "house" too, and for any  
progeny to come. "We'll use Paris."  
  
Tom grinned, and B'Elanna didn't begrudge him  
it.  
  
"We should hang this on the wall."  
  
"I hope you don't mind, B'Elanna, but I took  
the liberty of inserting several hangers over  
the credenza. We can move them if it doesn't  
look right . . ."  
  
"Let's try it." Carefully, with Tom's help,  
B'Elanna suspended the curved blade upon the  
wall and stepped back to examine the effect.  
"It looks good there," she admitted, a little  
grudgingly.  
  
"Do you think our daughter would mind if the  
old man borrowed it every now and then?"  
  
"Use your own blade on the holodeck, Tom. This  
one stays here."  
  
Tom sighed dramatically. She wanted to punch  
him, or maybe bite him, but she felt an odd  
sensation that startled her. She pressed a  
hand to her abdomen. "Tom . . ."  
  
Tom picked up on her distraction immediately.  
"What's wrong?"  
  
"I felt something. A twinge, but I think it's  
gone now--"  
  
B'Elanna quit speaking as Tom turned and moved  
toward the dresser at a jog. He pulled open a  
drawer--his underwear drawer--and began  
tossing items on the floor. "What are you  
doing?"  
  
Tom didn't answer her question. He pulled  
something from the drawer, and he was by her  
side again before she recognized what he was  
holding.  
  
"A medical scanner? How did you--"  
  
"I took it from Sickbay," Tom said as he turned  
on the scanner. "I thought we should probably  
keep one here now--"  
  
"You're not planning on pulling that out every  
time I feel a little twinge, are you?"  
B'Elanna asked. It was as much a warning as a  
question.  
  
"Well . . ."  
  
B'Elanna jumped as she felt the sensation  
again. "There it is!" It felt like something  
was . . .moving . . .  
  
Tom met her wide-eyed gaze, and they both  
stared at each other in astonishment. for  
several seconds before he confirmed what  
they'd both realized. "The baby is kicking."  
  
"Isn't it too soon?"  
  
Tom looked at her nearly flat belly. "Well,  
she is part Klingon." He turned off the  
scanner. "And with us for parents, I guess  
there's no chance she's going to be naturally  
timid, even in utero."  
  
B'Elanna shook her head at Tom's grin. "I  
suppose not." Then she grabbed his hand as  
the baby kicked again and pressed it to the  
spot. They both smiled at each other  
foolishly, caught up in the wonder of the  
moment. Then Tom surprised her by pulling his  
hand away and wrapping his arms tightly around  
her. He kissed her soundly, then whispered in  
her ear, "I love you."  
  
"Me, too," she murmured. She was about to  
follow up on Tom's action, but he diverted her  
attention by slipping his hand beneath her  
elbow and guiding her to the table where the  
candle burned.  
  
"There's something else we need to do first,"  
Tom said.  
  
As she sank to her knees, supported by his hand  
steadying her arm as he knelt beside her, she  
had a hunch what he was going to suggest.  
  
"The *DevwI'* told me about the Prayer of  
Remembrance. It sounded like a good tradition  
for us to follow. Do you know it?"  
  
"It's been a long time. My mother and I always  
prayed for my grandmother. L'naan, daughter of  
Krelik."  
  
"L'naan. That's a very pretty name. So is Miral  
. . ."  
  
"We'll add them to the list," she said with an  
exaggerated sigh, although she was not  
displeased. "If we're going to do this, shall  
we do it now?"  
  
Without further discussion, Tom began, "Kahless  
. . . We implore you to remember those  
warriors who have fallen in your name. Lift  
them out of the cavern of despair and reveal  
yourself to them in all your glory." B'Elanna  
repeated the words with him, stumbling a bit,  
until he paused after saying, "Remember . . .  
"  
  
She supplied what she thought would be the  
final words: "Miral, daughter of L'naan.  
Remember L'naan, daughter of Krelik."  
  
She was wrong. Tom added three other names  
which everyone on the ship knew, although  
B'Elanna had never heard them uttered by Tom  
before. She was sure that no one else on  
Voyager ever had, either.  
  
"Remember Brunolf Katajavuori. Remember Charles  
Day. Remember Odile Launay."  
  
His voice broke on the last name, and the  
silence that followed was deep. She reached  
out and covered Tom's hand with her own,  
seeking out his face with her gaze. Tom's blue  
eyes, highlighted by reflections from the  
candle's flames and brimming with emotion, met  
hers. B'Elanna understood, as she never had as  
a child, what the simple words of the prayer  
truly meant. But more importantly, she  
realized that Tom understood them, too.  
  
  
Epilogue  
  
Space, vast and impersonal, as far as eyes--or  
sensors--can reach. As the two who have formed  
a new family embark upon a personal ritual to  
strengthen the bonds between them, they are  
unaware that their starship, no more than a  
mere speck in the vastness, is not the only  
object following the same heading towards  
Sector 0-0-0.  
  
Light deforms so slightly around the invisible  
gravitic anomaly that it could barely be  
detected by the most sophisticated means  
possible. If it were, it would register as a  
"glitch" in the systems of the vessel doing the  
tracking--barely enough to raise suspicions . .  
.  
  
Within the anomaly, light glows a sickly  
greenish hue. The voices of the beings are  
silent. They have no need to communicate in  
words, for they are linked in a far more  
intimate way.  
  
They are the eyes, ears, and hands of one who  
never forgets anything, especially a defeat.  
One who desires above all things to conquer the  
crew of Voyager--particularly its captain.  
  
No reprieves this time. No escape.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Note: *d'k tahg* and *mek'leth* refer to two  
kinds of Klingon dagger.  
Coming Next: A short fill piece. We're taking advantage of the upcoming 3 day   
weekend to polish our next story, Escalation.  
  
  
Afterword  
  
  
As we mentioned in the introductory note to  
this episode, the Paris and Torres marriage  
actually began in "Lineage," not in "Drive." In  
"Lineage," B'Elanna at last revealed to her  
husband a critical secret that had blighted her  
entire life, threatening to ruin both her  
marriage and her ability to become a loving  
parent. She needed to come to terms with her  
abandonment by her father; with Tom's love and  
support, she did. Tom's stepping up and  
becoming a responsible husband in that episode  
was something we didn't want to lose.  
  
Prior to "Lineage," B'Elanna Torres and Tom  
Paris often didn't act like a couple that had  
a future together. B'Elanna still pushed Tom  
away whenever he threatened to get close,  
while Tom seemed to prefer going off with  
Harry, developing and playing games on the  
holodeck to spending time with his alleged  
girlfriend. After "Lineage," however, the two  
actually behaved like a committed couple. While  
not seeing them exchange their wedding vows in  
"Drive" was disappointing, in a sense, we did  
see them marry in "Lineage." Tom pledged his  
love to his bride in even more personal and  
powerful terms than we saw his Demon-planet  
counterpart do in "Course: Oblivion," during  
Voyager's fifth season (presumably in the same  
setting and words the "real" Paris and Torres  
did).  
  
B'Elanna's questioning of her Klingon heritage  
in "Lineage" had bothered many of us, too.  
Hadn't she finally laid that to rest at the end  
of "Barge of the Dead"? Well, she did, in part,  
at least. B'Elanna understood she had been  
rejecting her mother's attempts to help her  
appreciate Klingon culture, and that her mother  
had, indeed, always loved her. B'Elanna  
certainly appeared to accept her Klingon  
traits better afterwards. However, it does not  
necessarily follow that B'Elanna would want her  
own child going through what she herself went  
through. The rejection she suffered from her  
father was a terrible blow to B'Elanna's self-  
esteem. Learning to accept her mother's love  
didn't mean she didn't want to spare her  
daughter the pain of losing her father's. She  
wasn't giving Tom much credit, it's true, but  
until then, his behavior as a boyfriend had  
given her ample cause to worry about how much  
he'd be there as a parent to any child,  
perhaps, not only one who was as visibly  
Klingon as she herself.  
  
Human (and, presumably, Klingon) development  
does not necessarily proceed in a straight  
line, like making a frontal assault when  
climbing a mountain. Especially when it comes  
to emotional development, it's a bit more like  
a spiral--a winding road encircles a mountain,  
where previous stages are revisited and the  
lessons learned and relearned until true  
independence has been reached.  
  
The two year old learns to make autonomous  
choices through the power of the simple word,  
"No," using it even when the child would be  
happier saying, "Yes." In adolescence, young  
people strike out on their own, making choices  
that can make a parent turn pale with fear.  
Young adults make independent choices for  
themselves, becoming young parents guiding  
their children on how to make choices.  
Ultimately, mature adults may have to make  
difficult choices for their parents who have  
lost the ability to act independently.  
  
At each step, we confront similar issues.  
Events as devastating as abandonment by a  
parent, which B'Elanna experienced, can and  
will have an affect on every succeeding stage.  
B'Elanna's appearing to "backslide" in  
"Lineage," therefore, is something which could  
almost be expected to happen. Tom's commitment  
to B'Elanna and their daughter was a very  
welcome development.  
  
That doesn't mean that everything that occurred  
in "Lineage" was okay with us. If it were, we  
would have included it upon the list of 7.5  
canon episodes and would have gone on to write  
something else. We felt that B'Elanna went  
pretty far, for starters. We also wanted to  
see Tom confront some things about his own  
past which Voyager never showed him do. This  
segment of Season 7.5 provided us with the  
opportunity to do just that. We weren't about  
to let the chance slip by us, the way it did  
TPTB.  
  
J & J   
  
  
Next: Escalation I 


End file.
